Do Not Go Gentle
by the moon and the stars
Summary: "I don't like the way we left things after the trial," Magnus told him, pointblank. "I gave up too quickly. Not my proudest moment, I admit, and neither is this one right now. But frankly, Alexander, if I don't have the guts to fight for you, then I never deserved you in the first place." Malec. Post-1x11.
**Do Not Go Gentle**

 **Summary:** "I don't like the way we left things after the trial," Magnus told him, pointblank. "I gave up too quickly. Not my proudest moment, I admit, and neither is this one right now. But frankly, Alexander, if I don't have the _cojones_ to fight for you, then I never deserved you in the first place." Malec. Post-1x11.

 **Disclaimer:** Title comes from "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas, which I don't own, nor do I own anything pertaining to Shadowhunters or The Mortal Instruments.

 **A/N:** So here's the deal, guys. Most of this one shot came about before "Malec" aired, and even though I admit there are some natural similarities between them, I decided to finish it anyway. Because let's be honest: no such thing as too much of this pair, right? ;)

* * *

He looked ridiculous. He looked every bit like the fraud he felt with his wide eyes, creased forehead, clenched jaw. Like a man headed for a funeral rather than his own wedding, and his reflection stared back at him in cold, silent agreement.

Anxiously Alec reached for the knot at his throat, fingers fumbling to straighten a tie that needed no adjustment. The urge to tear it off was almost unbearable. He ached to be free of all the pomp and circumstance, all the stiff, pointless garments that sought to suffocate him. He craved the familiarity of his Shadowhunter gear, the simplicity of recognizing an enemy on the battlefield and vanquishing it without a second thought.

But there was no fight to be had.

Regardless, Alec's hands shook, itching for a weapon. Instead he raked them through his moussed hair, idly wondering if his fiancée's nerves were half this frayed.

Banishing the thought, he cut his gaze from the mirror—

To land on the figure in his doorway. It was a sign of how carelessly distracted he was that he hadn't even registered the approaching footsteps.

"Cold feet?" ventured the newcomer.

"Magnus."

The name left Alec in a breath of incredulity—though he was no less wary for it. Because here was the one person who could cinch the silk noose ever tighter.

The one reflection he couldn't hide from.

The High Warlock of Brooklyn, for his part, was barely recognizable. No jewels adorned his fingers, no silver circled the shell of his ear. No gel framed his hair, which spilled lifelessly into eyes that were entirely absent their characteristic garnish. Rounding off the list of anomalies was the casual attire: a dark set of slacks and matching long sleeve, button-down shirt. Overall, it was a far cry from the picture of polished extravagance Alec was accustomed to. As though the decision to seek his company had been one of impulse.

Still, Magnus Bane exuded a brilliance all his own, and Alec felt an even greater fool in his wedding finery.

"Don't worry." Magnus cast off from the doorframe and strode toward him. "I don't think there's any rule against seeing the groom before the ceremony. Lucky us."

His words aimed to disarm, but Alec had never felt more defensive. "What are you doing here?"

Magnus came to a stop a few feet away. Despite the cold nature of the greeting, his confidence never wavered. "I was invited, of course."

"No." Alec's frown deepened. "You weren't."

"Well, no," agreed Magnus, "not by you, though I'll try not to hold it against you. But seeing as your sister's preferred escort was recently made a fugitive by none other than the soon-to-be Mrs. Lightwood, a spot miraculously opened up on the guest list."

"So you're here for Izzy." Alec relaxed, just slightly.

Likewise, Magnus's gaze warmed, rolling over him like waves against the shore. "Technically, yes. Though I never said the arrangement was without ulterior motives."

The effect was immediate. Again Alec stilled, tense as his bow—and he was sincerely starting to wish that Magnus had kept it, if only so that every single time Alec notched an arrow he was not forced to recall the debt that saved his sister's standing in the Shadow World.

This meeting, he supposed, was her misguided attempt to return the favor. "She shouldn't have asked you here."

Magnus shrugged. "You know better than anyone that Isabelle is simply doing as she does—what she thinks is right. And that is exactly why she won't have this conversation with you herself. Because as much as she disagrees with this matrimonial farce, she gets it. _I_ don't. And we've all seen how persuasive I can be. I know, I know," he overrode the imminent protest. "You don't have to say it. Eleventh hour appeals— _so_ not sexy."

A beat of hesitation—but only one. "I won't change my mind about marrying Lydia."

"Then you have nothing to lose. Humor me."

The air constricted as, without warning, Magnus inched forward, and the new proximity left Alec unable to refute one truth, at least: the sincerity so often obscured by sultry looks and ambiguous flirting. It was the eyes that gave him away, naked and ill-concealed beneath the loose locks of hair. Those eyes spoke more than any speech he could make.

Though it hardly stopped him trying. "It's been my experience that the words you don't say are the ones you regret. They're like poison, eating away at you every day, every moment of eternity, and I for one have no intension of living that life of drudgery. I don't like the way we left things after the trial," Magnus told him, pointblank. "I gave up too quickly. Not my proudest moment, I admit, and neither is this one right now. But frankly, Alec, if I don't have the _cojones_ to fight for you, then I never deserved you in the first place."

Alec swallowed, summoning the will to respond. It was bad enough that his family legacy rested squarely on his shoulders without having to justify his actions time and time again.

It was worse that following through was turning into his very own trial.

"I'm not saying there isn't, you know…." Alec made a vague, awkward gesture between them. " _Something_. Here."

Magnus smiled at the attempt. "Be still my beating heart. Not quite the bold declaration I'd hoped for, but—"

"But it doesn't matter," Alec cut across. "Look, this isn't about you, Magnus. Or Isabelle, or anyone else. This is barely even about _me_." His voice was strong, brimming with frustration—though he was no longer certain where it was directed.

Magnus stared at him, waiting for the explanation that followed.

"Being a Shadowhunter… it isn't just a birthright. It's a commitment. It means family comes first. It means serving a cause greater than yourself, and sometimes that means sacrifice. That's just the way it is. I wish you understood that."

"You think I don't understand your kind?" returned Magnus, and for the first time his annoyance mirrored Alec's perfectly. "I've been around Nephilim far longer than you have, and I have to tell you, Alec—you're all just as flawed as the rest of the world. You're so eager to lie down on an altar and offer yourself up, and that's before the call to arms even comes. Yes, within your blood flows the righteous nobility of the angels and with that comes certain obligations. But how easily you forget the part of you that's human—a virtue that demands respect as much as, if not more than, the rest. Alexander," he sighed, and Alec saw fire spark across flint-black eyes. "Your heart isn't some bargaining chip. There's no prize in the world that's worth all the lonely years ahead of you. I wish _you_ understood _that_ even half as much as I do."

Long before the final word fell, blood sang in Alec's ears, loud and dizzying, and for a dangerous moment he saw the wisdom of it. Of abandoning the mission. Of turning from a fate not only expected of him, but one of his own design. Of following the cadence of a capricious heart. Living without pretense.

And all else he had ever known.

But Alec wasn't Magnus. He wasn't spontaneous or heedless of consequence. He was methodical, resolute, and his decision was already made. He would not rule or be ruled by the fickle nature of emotion. He would not be swayed from a promise at the first test of honor.

Despite the tightening in his chest that refused to yield.

Alec backed away.

The loss was immediate and palpable—like a spell breaking. It afforded him one crucial ounce of clarity. "Lydia understands. She and I agreed that—"

"If you recall," interrupted Magnus, "it was Lydia herself who argued the value of love in court. Against the wishes of the Clave."

Alec had no answer.

Magnus bridged the gap again. "If you can't be honest with anyone else, then at least be honest with yourself, if only just this once. All of _this_ —" A distasteful flourish at Alec's formal wear. "—is about so much more than restoring the Lightwood name and currying political favor. This is about fear."

"What?"

"You'd rather take the easier path—walk in the footsteps of Shadowhunters past—when you should be following your own. Embracing who you really are."

"You think what I'm doing is _easier_?" Alec was openly gaping at him now, and beneath the wayward strands of hair Magnus arched a brow.

"Isn't it?"

"And what do you know about who I really am?" he rallied. "You barely know me."

"I know enough. I know you're strong. You're brave. Compassionate. A true leader. Alec, what kind of precedent are you setting for those who would follow you? For those who look to you as a man of honor? A man entering a sacred union on a foundation of deception—"

"Enough," Alec burst out, and he was horrified to find that his chest was heaving. "Why can't you just let this go?"

"Because you're better than this." Magnus's voice rose to match, rolling over Alec like an avalanche.

And then he inhaled sharply, as though he were the one crushed.

As though what came next took all his strength. "If I thought for one second that this marriage had the slightest chance of making you happy, I might be able to let go. But it won't, so I can't. I won't ask you to choose me," he declared with open honesty. "I won't deny that I'm that selfish, but you were right when you said this isn't about me. Choose _yourself_ , Alec. Please."

But for all the prompting, Alec's mouth opened and closed, useless. In the cold, stagnant room echoed the ghost of his answer.

Which, evidently, was answer enough.

Magnus's face shuttered, and just like that, he was making his retreat. Alec's eyes fell closed on impact. He never knew that silence could cause such wounds, and at best, this abrupt departure was a hollow victory.

And a short one.

A plague of goosebumps forced his eyes back open.

Magnus was in front of him. Again. Inches away.

A smile tugging at his mouth.

And yet again Alec's instincts betrayed him, rendering him nothing more than a hopeless statue in the spectacle.

His powers of observation, however, were remarkably intact. He recognized the look on Magnus's face. It was more than the usual brand of carefree charisma; it was a look Alec had seen enough times sparring at the Institute, on those rare occasions that Jace dropped his guard. It was a look that signaled a revision of strategy. A last ditch effort to land the winning blow.

"Ah… I did say I would fight for you," came the reminder, strangely quiet. "Not that I would fight _fair_. And since you're not a married man just yet—"

That was all the warning he got.

Even a novice Shadowhunter should have sensed the advance. But in this arena, Alec was just a man. Completely, utterly out of his depth. There was no defense in the world that could have protected him.

The softest brush of skin against skin, heart against heart—

And then sparks. Everywhere.

Far more potent than any magic, the kiss ensnared Alec from the inside out, bringing to light parts of himself he had long since abandoned. And some he had no idea even existed. For the span of a breath, he gladly let his whole world collapse around him… and reform in his own image.

And then, far too soon, it was over—and the second he processed that thought, Alec knew he was already lost.

"There." Magnus's breath fanned his face. "No regrets."

"I… thought you said this wasn't about you," was all he could think to say, though it lacked enough heat for an accusation.

Magnus pulled away just enough to dispel a fraction of the fog in Alec's head, and muted laughter rumbled across the space between them—a sound like glass breaking. And something else. "Yes, well, I also said I was selfish. And maybe—maybe I wanted to make it a little less easy for you to walk down that aisle.

"Either way," he added, too brightly. "I suppose that makes me a glutton for punishment. Never figured myself for one, but it looks like you bring it out in me, Alexander."

 _You've unlocked something in me_.

Alec's heart tripped. He wasn't dense. He recognized the goodbye. He also registered a profound lack of relief this time around.

Because it wasn't only Magnus who'd been unlocked.

Before, he could have done it. Almost too easily. He could have lived the lie because it was his duty. Because in his entire life he had never known any alternative. He could have learned to ignore the little mutineer in his chest had not someone come along and cracked it wide open. That kiss had done that. It said what he had never dared put into words, torn down barriers he had never dreamed would fall. What Magnus broke was irreparable—and for that Alec couldn't help but hate him a little.

Even though he was right. Alec needed to be honest.

If only just this once.

Somehow the words made it past the lump in his throat. "I don't want to do this."

At first, nothing but twin heartbeats dueling in the quiet.

Then a sigh.

And—

"But you're still going to."

Not a question. A surrender. Hollow certainty that slid beneath Alec's ribs like an arrow. Subtle. Deadly. Maybe that was the point.

But regardless of intent, that arrow was a gift. A lifeline Alec couldn't help but clutch tighter.

He said nothing.

Magnus touched his lips, masking a watery smile. Alec didn't need a mirror to know he looked no better. "Somehow I think I knew this wouldn't change anything. Your unwavering conviction is, after all, one of your many fine attributes. But hey. Can't blame a guy for trying." Cold air assaulted Alec's skin as all contact dissolved between them. "Please convey my sincerest apologies to your sister, but it's probably best that I offer my best wishes from afar."

And then for the second time, the last time, Magnus was walking away from him.

At the doorway he paused, and his parting words ghosted past his shoulder to fill the entire room.

"You look gorgeous, by the way. Lydia… is a very lucky woman."

It wasn't long after Magnus swept from sight that Alec returned to the task at hand.

Starting with the destruction of the mirror.

* * *

He felt ridiculous. Like the lead actor in a terrible play, the punchline of the world's cruelest joke. He felt the shame of today's failure along with every other before it, but worse than any blow to his ego was the trail of destruction wrought by the unruly little fugitive once caged inside his chest—the sum total of a lesson never fully learned. Not even after a century and beyond spent in isolation. In all that time, he had never felt such anguish; in truth, had not felt much at all.

Magnus wanted to go back.

The subtle hues of his cocktail swirled in a shaky fist, enticing him, mocking him, as his vision began blurring at the edges. Whether it was the incessant pacing or the creeping haze of happy hour he had no idea, but it was in that onset of self-indulgence that Alexander found him.

Magnus sobered the instant he spotted him across the living room. The same devastating, beautiful bundle of nerves he had left over an hour ago… with a few glaring deviations.

Alec's shirt was rumpled, untucked, the top button undone, and somewhere along the way his jacket and tie had disappeared altogether. His bright eyes were unguarded, shining like the thin sheen of sweat lining his brow, and his dark hair was mussed—even more so than its post-battle state. As though he had run all the way from the Institute.

From everything.

"Well?" Magnus's voice pierced the veil, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "Are congratulations in order?"

He watched Alec's chest rise and fall. Watched him struggle for words. Watched the resolve form in his eyes.

Felt the air vanish between them. A moment of anticipation that stretched for eternity—the longest and loudest silence of his immortal life.

Followed by the three greatest words in the English language.

"They are now."

 _ **FIN**_

* * *

 **A/N:** Confession time: that ending was _so_ not what I originally planned. But I'm willing to bet you guys are happier for it because up until the eleventh hour that Magnus POV tag didn't exist at all. For some reason, when I first started writing this fic (remember: before "Malec" aired), I was pretty convinced Alec was going to go through with the wedding and find some weird loophole later…. I guess I was having some serious Haylijah flashbacks (for those who follow The Originals) and so this was coming out super-angsty. Needless to say, I was over the moon when the show proved me wrong… and then I couldn't bear to leave these guys in pain because damnit, they deserve to be happy!

Anyway, all I can say after the emotional roller coaster of this season is thank goodness we have a second one to look forward to, even if the wait will be torturous… Sigh. Thanks for reading!


End file.
